


Forever and Always

by lycos_anthropos



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Codependency, Crying, Death, Hospitals, M/M, Marriage, Parachute (Band) - Freeform, Sad, Suicide, references to rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-17 17:24:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3537809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lycos_anthropos/pseuds/lycos_anthropos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey plans a romantic night at home for Ian and himself but Ian never comes home from work. Takes place a few years from now.</p><p>Based on the song Forever and Always by Parachute.</p><p>Major trigger warning in the last chapter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Verse 1

Mickey glanced at the clock. It was just before seven thirty, meaning Ian would be getting off work in a little over a half hour, so he should be home in less than an hour. Mickey figured he'd make something special for dinner- something that didn't come out the microwave. Things had been good lately, but… boring good. He knew he'd be wishing for this tedious monotony in a few months, but in the moment it was just so _dull._  As much as it pained him to even think the words "date night", it sounded like a solution.

Even Mickey's Ukrainian ass knew it didn't take an hour to make spaghetti, so he started cleaning up for the first time in God knew how long. There were dirty clothes and empty bottles and hair dye boxes everywhere (those must of been Mandy's, he doesn't dye his hair, shut up). Almost all of it was trash, so a half hour and five garbage bags later the house looked like new- if you ignored the dirt ground into the floor and the bloodstain on the wall from God-knows-when.

Mickey figured he should clean himself up before he started boiling the pasta; it wouldn't take long to cook, and he didn't want it to be cold when Ian got home. By eight twenty-two he had showered and put on fresh clothes. He'd gone with his dark jeans and that black button-up that Ian said made him look "crisp". He had no idea what the fuck crisp looked like, but Ian smiled when he said it, so Mickey figured it was a good thing.

* * *

 

 The food was done by eight thirty. Mickey had been expecting Ian to be home by then, but if he'd been pulling in a lot of business  his manager might have asked him to stay late. It would be his luck that the one time he bothered to do something fucking romantic or whatever Ian wasn't even home. Hopefully it was just traffic or something and he'd be home in a few minutes. Mickey figured he'd clean a little better while he waited.

* * *

 

Nine thirty. Ian still wasn't home. The house was spotless and Mickey was laying on his bed tossing a tennis ball he'd stolen from some middle schoolers. He was starting to get scared, but he forced himself not to worry; Ian must have gone to the Gallaghers house after work. He called Fiona to see if he was right.

"You don't think something happened to him do you?" she asked after confirming that Ian had not gone to her house either.

"Nah, no its just… he was supposed to be home a while ago," Mickey reassured her. He got up and walked to the kitchen. The spaghetti had long since gotten cold. "I'm sure he just got held up at work or something. But uh…" he cracked open a beer, his first one of the night. Mickey couldn't remember the last time he was sober after dark. "Call me if you hear from him?"

"Of course," Fiona said, "And you too."

"Will do," Mickey hung up the phone and sighed before downing the beer in a single sip. He had a feeling it was going to be a long night.

* * *

 

He got the call at ten fifty seven. In the last hour and a half he'd finished a six-pack and done two shots of whiskey. He wasn't trying to get drunk, just take the edge off, but the more he drank the more nervous he got until Mickey was struggling to stand and his brain was on a loop of  _Ian Ian Ian Ian Ian._

He was so relieved to see Ian's number on his phone he didn't even wait for it to finish the first ring. "Ian?"

He crumbled when Fiona's voice responded, more confused than upset. Why was she using Ian's phone? "Mickey um…Something- something's happened. You should come, as soon as you c-can.

"Wha' happened? Where'm I goin'? Where's Ian?"

"There's been an accident, we don't know what happened exactly but- you sound wasted, are you gonna be able to drive yourself here?"

"No I- I'm _fine._ Where's here? I'll be there in five minutes. What happened again? How's Ian?"

Fiona sighed over the phone. "Look, we don't need anyone else getting hurt tonight. Lip's on his way to our house to get a few things, I'll ask him to pick you up on his way back. He shouldn't be more than five minutes, okay? Don't worry, I'm sure he'll be fine."

Mickey wished she hadn't been trying so hard to be positive; people are always the most positive when shit's about to go down the hardest. "Fine, I'll see ya then," he slurred, shutting the phone without waiting for a reply. He regretted it immediately, because what was there to do besides wait? He'd spent the last four hours waiting, and now here he was again, alone with nothing to do except _wait._

* * *

 

Mickey thought about the time he and Ian had been alone in the dugouts. Not the first time, long after that, after the army and the Christening and the kidnapping, when everything was good. Not great, but comfortable and safe. They were both pretty high, not trying-to-forget-your-life high, but a good just-get-me-through-today high. They'd been sitting on the bench laughing about God-knows-what when Ian looked at him out of the blue and said, "We should get married." The way he said it, you'd have thought he was suggesting they go out for ice cream after dinner.

Mickey started nodding before he even registered what Ian had said. When it finally came through he kept nodding, and was only a little surprised that the mere suggestion of marriage hadn't brought him crashing down from his high. Mickey readjusted himself so he was laying down with his head in Ian's lap. "Kind of short notice, don'cha think?"

"Not _now,_ " Ian replied, rubbing his hand through Mickey's hair, "Just eventually, when things are calm."

"Whatever you want, Gallagher."


	2. Verse 2

 

Mickey was so lost in his own thoughts he didn’t even hear Lip arrive and let himself in at three minutes after eleven until he heard a crash in the living room. Of course, he didn’t quite realize it was Lip at first and pulled a gun out of seemingly nowhere.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Lip asked, “You knew I was coming. You talked to Fiona like, five minutes ago and you _still_ felt the need to pull a fucking gun on me?” He was trying to sound indignant but Mickey could hear the fear coming through.

“Sorry,” Mickey said, returning the gun to the drawer under the sink, “‘M a little on edge.”

“Yeah well…” Lip rubbed his face with both hands. He looked so fucking tired. “C’mon, no point sitting around here with our dicks in our hands.”

The ride to the hospital was quiet and uncomfortable. You’d think that the potentially dire circumstances would cut through the tension, but if anything it made it worse. Eventually Mickey decided he couldn’t take another second of being in the dark and forced himself to speak.

“So… what- what happened?”

Lip waited a minute before answering, considering whether Mickey was worth answering. “We don’t know exactly. Someone found him passed out in the bathroom of the club. It uh, mostly just looks like a normal beat-down, but he’s in pretty bad shape. Says he’s having trouble breathing. He said he didn’t take anything much either, but who really knows how much is not much with that shit he’s one?” Lip joked. He even tried for a laugh but nothing came out, and Mickey didn't seem to appreciate it anyway.

It was quiet for a few minutes before Mickey asked the question that he knew Lip wouldn’t be able to answer. “‘S he gonna be okay?”

Lip just shook his head.

* * *

Mickey all but jumped out of the car the second Lip parked (eleven eleven, on the dot) and practically ran to the entrance, but he couldn't bring himself to open the door. He suddenly felt stone-cold sober and he didn't like it one bit. Lip was behind him a second later with a backpack full of something-or-other.

“You okay?” he asked.

Mickey tried to say yes, but when he couldn't get the word out he just shook his head. There was no point lying when he could feel the tears trying to escape from his eyes. He never cried before he got mixed up with that ginger piece of shit, what the fuck was wrong with him?

Lip damn near had to drag Mickey through the door and to the front desk to get visitors' passes. This time Lip just had to give Mickey a gentle shove on the back to get him moving.

Mickey couldn't help but marvel at how well Lip was holding himself together; he knew how close he and Ian were. Mickey figured it was a result of spending so much of his life taking care of his kid siblings. Mandy was barely a year younger than he was. If he was honest with himself (which he vehemently refused to be in any and all circumstances), she protected him way more than he did her, especially when they were younger. He couldn’t imagine doing what Lip did, even for a day.

* * *

The arrived outside Ian's room at eleven thirteen, just when Mickey was starting to feel like he might be able to get through this without throwing up. The door was closed, but there was a window. Mickey couldn't see Ian because his siblings were huddled around him. He froze and stared, and Lip pushed passed him to open the door, but paused before turning the knob.

“Hes gonna be alright,” Lip reassured Mickey, nodding, “You know that right? Hes gonna pull through this and be fine and a year from now this is just gonna be another shitty memory to add to the pile.”

Mickey nodded, blinking back more tears. Christ, when did he turn into such a bitch? He rubbed his eyes with both hands, noting and appreciating that Lip didn't mention it.

* * *

  
When they finally went inside (it felt like an hour had passed, but it was only eleven sixteen) the little ones just glanced back and waved before returning their attention to Ian. Fiona got up to fill them in on what had happened. She looked at least as bad as Mickey felt. He listened as hard as he could but it felt like he was hearing her through a sheet of plastic.

“...think he was roofied or something...”

He should have been there.

“...saw some kind of a struggle but didn't think anything of it...”

He could have stopped it.

“...manager thought he'd already left...”

Why hadn't he thought to pick him up?

Fiona either finished her debriefing or realized that Mickey was incapable of hearing any more. She rested her arm on his shoulders and walked him to Ian's bed, giving him a little squeeze before letting him crumple to his knees. He was surprised to see that Ian was awake. It wasn't until he smiled that Mickey realized he was crying _again_ and rushed to wipe his face dry. Ian laughed (if you can call exhaling at a slightly accelerated rate and starting to cough laughing) and for a second Mickey felt a little better.

“The fuck happened to you, Army?” he asked.

”Wish I could tell you,” Ian replied.

All joking aside, Ian did not look good. His hair was sticking up every which-way, held into position with what Mickey could only guess was his blood. When Mickey went to touch him his skin was ice cold and he winced even though Mickey had barely brushed his face. Ian's breathing was labored and the pain in his eyes was visible to anyone who cared to look. He was paler than usual (which was saying quite a bit), so the bruises under his eye and on his cheek stood out.

“You're gonna be out of here soon, right? 'Cuz Yev starts preschool soon, and if you think I'm gonna be able to deal with that on my own, you got another thing coming.”

“Is that so?” Ian asked.

“You fucking know it,” Mickey confirmed, grabbing Ian's hand. “And I'm gonna be getting my divorce papers soon, and we're gonna have to celebrate the shit out of that.”

“I can't wait.”

The room was quiet for a few minutes. Mickey had forgotten that there was anyone else in the room, despite Debbie leaning against his arm and Fiona's hand on his shoulder. “I love you,” he whispered, almost desperately.

Now Ian was the one blinking back tears. “I love you too.”

 

 


	3. Bridge

"Remember that day in the dugouts?" Mickey asked. It was eleven twenty-four and he and Ian had spent the last five minutes staring into each others' eyes like they were in a goddamn Lifetime movie or something, and he had gotten what just might have been a good idea.

"When you got out of juvie?" Ian asked, "Watch yourself Mick, there are kids in here."

"Yeah, and the rest of us aren't exactly itching to hear about your sex life," Lip interjected.

Mickey smiled. "No, that time last fall. Remember what we talked about?"

"Didn't we get high off our asses that day? Mickey, I don't think anything we-"

"You said we should get married."

Ian laughed that painful-sounding laugh again. "Mick, I don't think this is the best time."

Mickey looked around at all the machines blinking and beeping, trying to talk to him in their language that he just did not understand. But Ian was talking and joking and he just _couldn't_ be in such terrible shape if he was holding a conversation like he was. "As soon as you get out. We'll go to a fucking courthouse or something."

Ian nodded slightly, once because apparently it hurt like a bitch to move his head. "Yeah… but Mick, you're still married."

"Not for long. A week or two, tops. Then we're in the clear."

Ian was trying to convince himself that what he was hearing wasn't just some fever dream. But you couldn't feel pain in dreams, and he was most definitely in pain, so this had to be real. "Let's do it."

"You two are gonna get _married?"_ exclaimed Debbie.

"Which one of you's gonna be the bride?" asked Carl. Debbie smacked the back of his head.

Only Fiona looked troubled. "Are you guys sure? I mean we're all kind of excited right now, and who knows what's gonna be going through your he-"

"Hey, how 'bout the peanut gallery keeps its fucking mouth shut?" Mickey said.

Fiona put her hands up in defeat. "You're right, sorry. I think it's a great idea."

* * *

Eleven thirty-seven. Conversation was light and fun. Everyone was excited about something not shitty happening for once. Ian was still the center of attention but no one seemed to notice that he was talking less and cringing more. The increasingly aggressive beeping and whirring of the machines faded into the background.

Doctors came rushing in and forced them to accept what they'd known but refused to acknowledge. The tears were back in Mickey's eyes but this time he didn't even try to hide them. The room that had so recently been filled with chipper chatter was now drowning in a violent silence.

Ian had a few broken ribs, one of which had punctured his aorta. It was too late to fix it, all they could do was wait for him to bleed out on the inside. Ian looked down at his chest and Mickey could swear in that moment he turned back into that kid who showed up on his doorstep with nowhere else to go when his mom came back to town after so many years.

"Let's do this now," Mickey said. His face didn't reflect the forcefulness of his words, but it didn't matter; no one knew exactly what he wanted to get done. "Let's get married," he clarified, "Let's fucking do this."

There was a lot of hesitant nodding. Fiona told Debbie to run to the gift shop and buy a couple of rings and made Carl run and find someone to perform the ceremony. Everything was hectic but nothing was happening and nobody could see because their eyes were full of tears, but somehow it felt like this was as right as this very wrong situation was going to get. Ian was silent throughout and Mickey tried not to think about it but oh _God,_ just how long did he have, he wasn't ready to be alone again.

* * *

 

Debbie came back at eleven forty-six, and Carl less than a minute after her. She had a pair of mood rings and he had a ninety-four year old Buddhist monk. Mickey knelt next to Ian and held his hand tight, trying to ignore that his fiancé was lying in a hospital bed, and they were about to be bound for life by a man in a bright yellow robes with novelty toys to show their commitment. He didnt think about how he was still technically married to Svetlana, or that they didn't have a marriage license, and that this wedding wasn't going to mean shit, because it _did,_ it meant the world to him and no way was the fucking government going to ruin this for him.

The monk started the ceremony and everyone was laughing and crying at the same time, trying to be upbeat for each other but failing miserably. Ian was the conspicuously dry-eyed exception, smiling like it didn't feel like his chest was on fire. Nobody was fully listening to the sermon, but when Mickey launched into his vows they couldn't think about anything else.

He looked deep into Ian's eyes and with more emotion than they'd ever heard him express he said, "I want you forever- forever and always. Through the good, and the bad, and the ugly," he paused to suppress a sob. "We could grow old together and always, whether happy or sad or- or whatever, we'll still love each other. Forever and always."

It was Ian's turn, and Mickey pretended not to notice that the machine he figured had to be some kind of heart monitor was beeping far more slowly than it had been before. Ian squeezed Mickey's hand and Mickey tried not to think about how much effort it seemed to take because Ian was talking now and he needed to remember these words for the rest of his life.

"You know I'll love you forever," Ian smiled. "Forever and always." Cough. "Please, just remember... even if I'm not there." Finally, tears, thick and fast and horribly, _horribly_ real. "I'll always love you. Forever and always."

* * *

 

Time of death, 12:01 AM.

 

 

 

 


	4. Coda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear to god I didn't mean to end it like this, it just kind of happened. Major trigger warnings for suicide though.

The beep started and ended a minute after twelve, but as far as Mickey was concerned it lasted for a year. He knelt beside the bed, horrified, for he didn't know how long. He stood up and backed away at some point, and Fiona took him into her arms and comforted him as if she hadn't just lost Ian as well. Or maybe she was holding him for her own comfort, all Mickey knew was that she was resting her head on his shoulder just where Ian always did.

Debbie was trying to calm Liam down. He didn't quite understand what was going on, but he knew that Ian wasn't talking anymore and everyone was sad when they had just been happy and he was scared. The problem was that Debbie herself couldn't see through her own tears and her sobs were shaking both of their bodies like a Californian earthquake. Carl, for once in his life, was quiet. His tears had stopped but he hadn't bothered to dry them and you could see the tracks they left in the dirt on his face. Lip was standing behind him, hands on his shoulders. His face was dry but his eyes were red and his gaze was stuck on his dead brother, as if staring hard enough would bring him back to life.

For one crazy second Mickey wondered why Ian's father wasn't there. But Frank Gallagher was a useless piece goat shit and his kids were far better off without him. He didn't deserve Ian, or Fiona or Lip or any of his kids. He should be rotting in the fiery pits of hell and Ian should be alive and they should be happy because they just got married and they were going to have a life with each other. That bastard had gotten a new liver when he destroyed his own himself and Ian had to die because some dick-wad couldn't keep his hands to himself.

Mickey considered going down to the club and talking to every perverted cock-monkey he saw until he found out who the fuck did this. He would have, if his feet hadn't been rooted to the ground. He didn't know if he was silent or sobbing or if his eyes were dry or waterfalls, but he knew he had no control over it either way.

* * *

Mickey managed to pull himself away from Fiona at twelve forty-seven. Lip had left to take the kids home, but it wasn't a long drive, and he would be back in a few minutes. Mickey walked to Ian's bed and held his hand. It was still warm, and he had to force himself to remember that he was dead. He started running his hands over the body, Ian's neck, his chin, his forehead, his hair. He'd touched it all so many times, yet it felt so alien.

Mickey was examining Ian's earlobes when Lip came back. Fiona hadn't said a word since he'd left, and she didn't seem like she was ready to now. Somehow she reminded Lip that he'd driven Mickey there in the first place. Mickey didn't care, he would've stayed in that room until they took Ian's body and sent it away, but he wasn't in the mood to argue.

* * *

Lip dropped Mickey off at twelve fifty-six. The door was unlocked, as Mickey hadn't bothered to lock it when he left, but he hadn't been expecting the house to feel so empty. The last he'd seen of Mandy she'd been looking to spend even a few days away from Kenyatta, but that was almost a year ago. His brothers were about as consistent as herpes, constantly in and out of prison and crack houses and God knew where else. Terry was still locked up, thank God, so all he had left was Yevgeny on the weekends. Not for nothing, Mickey wasn't sure he could handle him without Ian. Or anything, for that matter.

He walked into his kitchen, dishes still dirty from the dinner he never ate, and pulled the pistol out of the drawer under the sink. Ian never liked having so many guns in the house, especially when Yev was over.

* * *

Mickey turned the safety off at twelve fifty-eight. He went into the living room, to the bloodstain he hadn't been able to wash out during his cleaning spree. He thought about Yevgeny, who had a mother who loved him. He thought about the Gallaghers, who still had a crapload of people who cared about them and would do anything for them. He thought about Kev and Veronica, who were halfway to having their third kid. He thought about Ian, who had been all he had the last few years.

* * *

One o'clock. Mickey aimed the gun at his head. At least he knew he wouldn't have to worry about someone walking in on him.

Pull the trigger.

A split-second of excruciating pain.

Nothing.

* * *

Time of death: 1:01 AM.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this doesn't actually have anything to do with the song, it just didn't feel finished after the last chapter. Sorry if I made you cry.


End file.
